


You Can Dim the Lights

by supermatique



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 14:23:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supermatique/pseuds/supermatique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Date night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Dim the Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [hanging by a moment here with you (Collected Wentworth Drabbles)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/870964) by [astano](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astano/pseuds/astano). 



Franky takes her out to dinner and a play.

“It's meant to be good,” Franky says of the play as they leave the restaurant. “Got some pretty good reviews.”

Erica's not really bothered about the quality of the play, if she's honest. Franky looks stunning tonight, and it is doing a number on her senses. Underneath her light jacket, she's wearing an extremely flattering deep purple knee-length dress that shows off her (amazing, beautiful) legs, with a neckline that screams for attention. Over dinner, Erica spied a silver-accentuated clasp on the left shoulder of the dress that has since been calling for her to slip it off Franky all evening. 

Franky smells great, too. Each time they stray a little closer to each other as they walk down St Kilda Rd, or when Franky leans across to open the door to the Arts Centre for her, Erica catches a whiff of the perfume Franky is wearing. It's unexpectedly feminine, just like the fact that Franky is wearing a dress at all; it's a little sweet with a hint of fruit – pomegranate, maybe? – that tapers off into a delightful scent of pure _Franky-ness_ at the end that makes Erica want to bury herself in Franky's entire being.

“Oh, good,” she says, and Franky glances over at her, amused, a smile pulling at her lips. “What?”

Franky laughs, stares at Erica openly as they stand in the queue to collect their tickets. It disarms Erica, makes her feel like Franky can see right through her. Franky's gaze is as magnetic and intense as ever, and Erica can't look away. 

“You look amazing, Erica.” Franky bites her lip, hesitates before she seems to square her shoulders and refocus her gaze. “I'm glad you called.” 

Erica remembers the night in the bar clearly, when she had stood in the bathroom for long minutes after Franky left her there that night, her card in Erica's hand. That night, she dreamt of Franky, the same dreams that plagued her long after Wentworth and long after Mark. She has not forgotten a single one of them, has felt like a beggar carrying the memories with her, salvaging the scraps in her waking hours to fill in the cracks of her picture-perfect life.

How could she not have called? 

She thinks back to earlier in the day, taking the better part of the afternoon to choose her outfit – blood red sundress, black bra-and-panty lingerie set – and wondering whether to wear her hair up or down.

(Up: because she still remembers the hunger in Franky's eyes when she leaned over the education centre's table and teased the most painful arousal out of Erica all those years ago, and she wants to see it again tonight, wants to follow through this time.

Down: because she's tried the sexy librarian hair thing before and it's just plain embarrassing and thoroughly unsexy when she fucks it up.

Down, because then Franky rang the doorbell and all Erica wanted was for Franky to run her hands through her hair easy, like she'd been dreaming of all week.)

“I'm glad we can be here,” she says. 

The slow grin that follows is so characteristic of the mischievous Franky she knew in Wentworth, so much so that Erica half-expects to hear some provocative remark in reply. But nothing comes, and Franky just thanks the man at the counter when they take their tickets. 

As they move from the foyer to the studio, Erica watches Franky walk ahead of her with the same confident swagger. She feels the now-familiar pang of regret as she wonders how Franky has been these six years, wonders what they could have done with all the time she's let slip away.

-

“Hey – Franky!” 

Erica turns at the same time Franky does, sees a tall woman bounding down the stairs toward them. She's pretty, with long and wavy brunette hair and fashionable dress sense. About Franky's age, Erica thinks, and wonders if it's some fan from Franky's reality TV show, one of the people who took the time to write Franky letters in Wentworth. 

“Georgia, hi.” Franky looks caught, but recovers quickly. “How are you?”

She obviously knows the girl; Erica scraps the fan idea. Ex-girlfriend, maybe? Fan turned ex-girlfriend?

“Yeah, great!” Georgia exclaims, seemingly oblivious to the awkwardness waiting to introduce itself. “It's so good to see you! You kinda fell off the radar, there.” She moves in for a hug, and Franky makes an apologetic face at Erica as she hugs Georgia back, pats her on the back twice before pulling away. 

“I know,” Franky says. “I just – wanted to get on with it, I suppose. I didn't mean to cut you off.”

Georgia nods. “Totally understandable. I mean, pri––” She shoots a sharp glance at Erica, and Erica can almost see Georgia's brain yell at her mouth to stop, the way she's cut herself off so abruptly. It would be funny if the air weren't bordering so preciously on tense. 

“It's fine,” Franky says. “She knows. Georgia, this is Erica.” She moves closer and puts her hand on the small of Erica's back, and the warmth from her touch blossoms through Erica's stomach and all the way up to her chest. 

She feels like a dork. One touch and she's feeling like a teenager, just like that. She extends her hand and smiles. “Hi.”

Georgia's eyes light up as she shakes Erica's hand. “Hi! Nice to meet you.” She looks at Erica, and then makes questioning eyes at Franky, and Erica smothers a chuckle at how obvious the girl is. 

Franky just waggles her eyebrows, smirking. “That's awesome,” Georgia says, laughing, then grasps Franky's shoulder. “Well, I'll leave you two to it. My number hasn't changed,” she says, meaningfully. 

“Okay,” Franky says. “I'll call you.”

Erica absently wonders how many girls Franky has said that to.

“No pressure. Enjoy the play!” Georgia says, and she and Franky hug again before she skips back up the stairs to the back of the studio. Erica watches her go even as she and Franky walk across to their seats, sees Georgia sit down next to a young girl who doesn't look any older than twenty-two or twenty-three. 

“Sorry,” Franky says. 

Erica shakes her head. “It's fine.” 

She is definitely almost dying to know – _who is she? How do you know her?_ – but then the lights dim, and the crowd hushes down; Franky's hand brushes Erica's arm as she folds her jacket over her lap, and Erica thinks she's happy enough not knowing for the moment. 

-

The play is about infinite possibilites across parallel universes, and as Erica watches permutation after permutation of all the outcomes of one relationship unfold in front of her, she wonders how much of this could apply to her and Franky over the last six years. Is there some world where she wasn't with Mark? Where Meg never died, and Franky never lost faith in her? Was there a moment in time where she chose not to fight Franky and instead took her challenges head on? Would they have been equals, perhaps, on more stable ground, or would she still have ended up a helpless second to her father's ambition?

She'll never know; not in this timeline, anyway. 

“What did you think?” Franky asks her as they walk out into the cooling Melbourne evening. 

“It was interesting,” Erica replies. “A fresh take on something quite typical.”

“Yeah,” Franky agrees. “Went a little long, though.”

Erica glances at her watch. The play ran just over an hour long; not too bad, considering the writer seemed to know when to switch tacks before the scenes became too cloying. As they walk back to Franky's car, she feels invisible in the crowd, like she and Franky are just another couple wandering through the city. 

She's surprised to find that she likes it. Not even two years ago she would have balked at the idea, clung onto Mark as though he were a life preserver in the pretense she was drowning in. Now, she thinks, she could get used to this. 

“I still talk to Booms, you know,” Franky says. “I told her I was seeing you tonight.”

Erica's surprised, not because Franky still speaks to Sue, but because they haven't said a Wentworth-related word at all so far tonight. Franky hasn't offered, and she hasn't dared to ask – this is their first time together as two regular people out for the night, and she hasn't wanted to ask anything that could disrupt their delicate relationship from moving any way other than smoothly.

“Oh?” she asks, careful to keep her voice neutral. “What did she say?”

“She said,” – and here Franky's mouth does a ridiculously attractive thing as she tries not to smirk and fails – “That you're a dirty word for leaving but that I should still 'go and get it, girl'.”

It's not what she was expecting to hear at all, but it does sound very much like Boomer, and Erica surprises herself when she laughs. Her heartbeat doubles as an image of Franky naked, on top of her, flashes through her mind. “Oh,” she says, when she can look Franky in the eye again. “And what are your thoughts on that?”

Franky stops, turns to face Erica fully. “I'm thinking... your place or mine?”

It's crazy that she hasn't realised before now: that's what she's been waiting to hear all night.

-

They stumble through the door of Franky's apartment, Franky kicking it shut behind them. The slam finds an echo in Erica's heart. She takes her heels off, keeping a hand on the wall for balance, only for Franky to come up behind her, close enough for Erica to feel Franky's breasts press against her back. 

Her breath catches when Franky's left arm snakes around, fingers splayed over her stomach. Franky reaches up with her free hand and traces the seam of Erica's jacket, runs a finger down from her shoulder all the way down her side before reaching around and tugging at the zipper.

“Take it off,” Franky commands, whipping it off Erica before crushing Erica's body to hers. She grinds her hips against Erica's, and Erica can't choke back the whimper that escapes her. 

Franky shushes her. “Don't say a word,” she whispers in Erica's ear, her breath hot against Erica's skin. She bites Erica's earlobe, tugs on it with her teeth before soothing the sting with her tongue. “I'm going to fuck you. So hard.”

Erica gasps, biting her lip when Franky shoves her face-first against the wall. “I said shut up. Understand?”

She nods, doesn't dare to move. Her lips are burning for Franky's kiss, her arousal dampening her thighs.

“You look so hot in that fucking dress,” Franky tells her as she tracks her hand slowly up Erica's thigh, past the hem of her dress and stopping just short of where Erica needs it most. “I've wanted to rip it off you all night. The way you walk, everything about you––” Franky stops, chuckles in appreciation. “Do you know what it does to me?”

She shakes her head, wants to grab Franky's hand and push it higher. Her body chases the high, her hips bucking hard against Franky, and Franky laughs. “I can feel how much you want it,” she says, her voice low, sending vibrations of want down Erica's spine. “You're so wet, so easy––” She turns Erica around, presses Erica to the wall. Her gaze is piercing, her smirk baring teeth as she rucks Erica's dress up and pulls her underwear down, entering her easily with two fingers. 

The burn is exquisite. She won't last long. She doesn't _want_ to last long. 

She damn near screams when Franky swipes a thumb over her clit, draws her so close to orgasm, and then pulls her hand away. 

“Do you––” Franky begins, sounding a little breathless herself, “––do you want to, can I––” She can't finish the sentence, barely suppressing a moan as she moves against Erica, pressing her hips against Erica's thigh. 

It's a miracle she can even comprehend what Franky's trying to ask; her heart feels like it is going to beat itself out of her body. “Yeah,” she manages. She grabs Franky's hand and licks her taste off Franky's fingers. Franky's eyes grow dark with the action, her grip on Erica's wrist tightening, and Erica has to kiss her. 

They stumble farther into the apartment, stripping each other of their dresses along the way. When Franky bites down on Erica's shoulder as she unfastens Erica's bra, the feel of Franky's tongue and teeth and heat makes Erica almost come right there in the living room.

When they finally make it to the bedroom, Franky almost breaks a leg getting to the strap-on, buckling the harness with quick and deft fingers. Nobody else can make it look so damn hot, and Erica grows wetter just from watching. 

Franky's gentle at the start, stroking Erica's thighs as she straddles her and then checks the condom, preps the lube. “All right?” she asks, unusually tender, and Erica nods desperately. 

“Fuck me,” she groans, thrusting helplessly against Franky's slender weight on top of her. “Please.”

Any control either of them had is all over after that.

Franky is attentive, somehow knows every spot to touch to drive Erica wild. It doesn't take long for her to come, hard, with Franky trapping her against the mattress. Franky herself slams the wall with her hand when she comes, moaning incoherently and it's so hot that Erica orgasms again just from hearing it.

“Oh, fuck,” Franky gasps as her knees buckle and give way, only just managing to catch her balance before she collapses onto Erica. The strap-on protrudes from her body, moving with its own momentum as Franky catches her breath, and they both laugh at the sight. 

“You make me feel like a kid again,” Franky tells her, lifting her hips and unfastening the harness. She bites back a whimper as the base of the toy rubs against her, and the sound makes Erica want to be fucked through the mattress all over again. “When it was good, anyway. I don't know what you do to me.”

“That makes two of us.”

Franky _hmm_ s in reply. “I hated you so much for leaving," she says. "I hate you even more now for making us wait this long.” 

“Hmm,” Erica echoes. “At least we can make amends.” 

Franky considers Erica's for a moment. “Yeah.” She scoots closer to Erica, slowly trails her fingers up Erica's calf to her thigh and then grapples her to the mattress, kisses her just below her right ear. “Not a moment to waste.”

-

They're back in bed, fresh from a break where they raided the fridge and ended up with chocolate all over Franky's sheets. Erica's bone tired, her body wanting to succumb to the sweet pull of sleep, but she's not ready to admit defeat just yet. It's ironic, she notes, that she used to go to bed willing sleep to come quickly in the hopes that the next day would be different, a clean slate with which she could shore up her defenses against Franky; now, she's fighting to stay awake, because she never wants this to end. 

Franky's as relaxed as ever, lying next to Erica with her arms folded behind her head. “The girl at the studio,” she says out of nowhere. “Georgia.”

“She seemed nice,” Erica says. That's all she dares to say for the moment; she's not quite sure where this is going. 

“Yeah. She works for VACRO; she was my mentor when I got out, that's how we know each other.” She chuckles and looks over at Erica. “I know you've been dying to ask.”

Erica laughs at that. “Am I that obvious?”

“You've always been obvious to me, Erica,” Franky tells her, staring at Erica intently, biting her lower lip. “I've known who you were from the beginning.”

It's the truth, Erica knows that now, but it doesn't make it any less uncomfortable to hear. 

“You and mentors,” she says. “There seems to be a trend.”

Franky smirks at her and shifts onto her side, reaches over and playfully squeezes Erica's waist. “You're jealous.” 

“Wouldn't you be?” she shoots back, hating herself even as the words come out of her mouth. They both know it's the worst thing she can say, because out of all the people who have licence to be jealous of Franky's old girlfriends, she's sent herself to the back of the line, probably shouldn't even be in line at all. 

She feels Franky tense. “I don't have to justify myself to you,” Franky says. 

_Who left who – and where?_

The future hangs between them, waiting to go one of two ways. Franky's hand stays on her waist, and Erica becomes acutely aware of the heat and weight against her skin as neither of them moves. Franky's eyes cut like a laser, watching her as they both wait for Erica's next move.

She swallows her pride. “You're right. I'm sorry.”

“That was a really shitty thing to say.” 

“I know.”

The hand on her waist shifts as Franky moves on top of her, pressing her thigh between Erica's legs as she rolls her hips. Erica moans, pushing up against the sweet pressure. “I've been waiting the better part of a decade for this,” Franky says, hovering over Erica, staring down at her. “Don't ruin it now by being a dick.”

“Okay,” Erica agrees, easily enough. At the back of her mind, she knows Franky is manipulating her, tapping into that carnal part of her who wants fucking, not talking, but she doesn't give a damn. 

Franky watches her for a moment longer, looks beautiful even under the harsh light of her bedside lamp. Her face softens, and she strokes Erica's cheek gently before reaching past her, retrieving a silk tie from where it is loosely tied to the bedpost. “Ready?”

Yeah, she's ready. They'll talk about it eventually, she knows.

Just not right now. Not today. 

 

END


End file.
